The Boy Is Mine
by chronically radioactive
Summary: F!LW doesn't like the way Clover has been interacting with her Vault friend. In fact, LW doesn't like Clover at all. M.
1. Chapter 1

YAY MORE FALLOUT SMUT.  
Prompted by the fuckin' awesome momo-deary. Check her out on dA, she's got some epic fanart (also lots of sexy Butch just sayin'.)

* * *

When Clover passes by the campfire, swinging her hips all seductively and brushing her delicate fingers _ever so_ airily over Butch's shoulders, the Lone Wanderer wants to scream. The normally good-natured woman watches in exhausting disgust as the former slave settles on the dark ground next to barber and stretches her bare, tan legs towards the fire. Candace doesn't need to be looking at Butch's face to know he's checking Clover out.

An abnormally bizarre, twisted feelings dances across her nerves, stimulating an emotion she can't remember experiencing before. Considering the events of the past year, one would expect she'd be accustomed to every range of emotions; she'd experienced fear, loneliness and grief in the last month alone.

But this…this is much different. It coils, bends, and twists her face in a display of rage, and Ace has to turn away from the fire so Charon won't see her angry expression. The emotion has complete control of her now - the fourth time Clover laughs, high-pitched and seductively dangerous, Ace wants to rip the combat shotgun from her bodyguard's arms and…and…

Ace slams a fist against the ground, ignoring the bite of pain when tiny specks of gravel dig into her skin. Her sizeable travelling group is camped out in a destroyed, unsteady farmhouse the once belonged to raiders. Ace sits in the loft, taking her turn at watch with Charon. Butch and Clover are reclined on their makeshift bedrolls, flirting relentlessly.

All too suddenly, Ace's good-natured, helpful personality is caught in a fierce war with the immense hatred she suddenly feels. She lets out a confused, slightly bitter breath with an air of immaturity.

"My sentiments reside with you, mistress."

Ace glances at Charon, gauging the truthfulness of his words. She raises an eyebrow at him, trying to fish out a more descriptive opinion from the ghoul. He speaks so rarely, but when he does, it's usually worth listening to.

"I can't stand her, is what I'm saying. While her background is certainly a concer-" Charon continues, but is cut off by a short squeal from the object of their gossip. Ace stiffens, but refuses to turn and investigate. "I'm going to take the opportunity to remind you that _murder_ is within the guidelines of my contract."

Ace lets out a short, curt laugh, and adjusts the goggles around her neck, trying for a more approachable air. Is that why Butch sees Clover as more feminine? Is she too…rough and tumble? Granted, the only boyfriend she'd ever had was Freddie when they were seventeen, but even then she couldn't remember him having any complaints about her lack of feminine daintiness when she sucked him off the night of the Vault Graduation ceremony.

So maybe she's a little jealous. She can vaguely recall wanting to hook up with Butch, but passes that off as wanting a taste of the "bad boy" experience Susie Mack had always gushed about. Ace had never gone after a relationship with the hot, badass gang leader, simply because of her upbringing.

Hell if she's going to let an opportunity like that slip by again.

Charon seems to notice her rigid, determined resolution. It's dark, and she's probably seeing things, but Ace would bet a thousand bottle caps that his decayed, cracked lips turn up in a grin.

"HEY. Slave bitch. Boss spotted a pack of yao guai roaming the edges of camp."

Ace swings her feet over the edge of the loft to watch her bodyguard's unspoken plan play out, and immediately regrets it.

Clover is draped across the Tunnel Snake, one pretty hand down the front of his blue jeans, another fisted in his dark, styled hair. The former slave frowns, and Ace is even envious of the way she can make that childish _pout_ gorgeous.

"So? We're kinda fuckin' busy here, you shit-faced zombie," she says, and Butch nods his head, agreeing with a hearty, pleased grunt. Ace feels sick to her stomach at the content, lustful expression on his face, but also _very_ pissed and _very_ jealous.

"Help me clear 'em out. It's the least you can do." Charon says tonelessly.

"We _are_ transporting your bitchy, evil ass across the Wasteland," Ace calls from her perch in the loft, unable to keep her mouth shut. Butch's breathy, stifled laugh coupled with Clover's malicious glare force a confident and slightly sassy smirk to appear on the Lone Wanderer's face.

"Fine," she sneers, and pulls her hand away from Butch with a tantalizing slowness. He groans, and Ace wants to just fucking beat him because he arches towards her, instead of away. Clover pecks him on the side of the mouth, what Ace thinks is a simple kiss, but their mouths soon meld together, and Charon has to clear his throat.

"Baby, _please_ don't take long," Butch whines as Clovers picks up her pistol and follows Charon out of the farmhouse. She blows him a kiss over her shoulder, and Ace watches as Butch lets his head thump back to the ground. He splays his arms and legs out, clearly displeased with the turn of events.

Ace can't help but stare at the patch of toned abdomen that peaks out as he stretches, leading down towards the tent in his jeans. Happy trail, indeed.

"Thanks for the damn cockblock, Ace," Butch complains, twisting onto his side. He props his head up on his forearm, staring out the open barn door into the night. She traces the sinewy muscle of his triceps with hungry eyes. "Finish myself off…again," he whines.

After a moment of careful deliberation, Ace takes the initiative. She's tired of being pushed around. She's tired of having opportunities snatched away.

"Not necessarily, Butch-man."


	2. Chapter 2

_a/n:_ Enjoyyyy.

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He just snorts at her alarmingly open invitation, continues drawing Raiders getting eaten by giant snakes in the dust.

He doesn't believe her, or …just isn't interested. Ace frowns, mouth stretching into a taut, angry grimace, and crosses her arms. Incredibly frustrated, she marches down the rickety steps of the loft, jumping over the last two with a boiling deliberateness. Her heavy black boots thump against the ground, kicking up dirty, and she confidently struts over to the Tunnel Snake.

His face is still turned towards the open barn door, but the warm orange glow of the fire dances across the lines of his neck, casting a mysterious halo of light around him. For a second, her stomach flips, and she can feel goose bumps form on her bare arms. How many times has she fantasized running her tongue along that jaw line, running her fingers through his thick, dark hair?

It just isn't fair - just isn't _right_ – that Clover got to do it first.

Ace swings a foot over his knees, lands her boot dangerously close to his crotch, and hangs above him for a minute. She waits for him to flip over on his stomach with a surprised yelp, and then plops unceremoniously down onto his lap, caging him in with her strong thighs. He blinks up at her in surprise for the barest hint of a second before reaching up to slide his hand over her jeans.

"Hey, nosebleed," he drawls, "not that I mind…what's the word?" But instead of an answer, he gets a soft hand lifting his t-shirt, dipping under the fabric, and sliding up his chest. He prefers this over an explanation. Ace grins at the shiver he gives at the sensation.

"Why are you so buddy-buddy with Clover? D'you let anyone touch you?"

Butch rolls his eyes, shrugs and says, "Clover's a woman, women have tits," like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Ace slips her hand out of his shirt, digging into his abdomen with her nails as she retracts her palms. He hisses and fails to stop himself from bucking up against her as she does so.

He tries to keep the smirk off of his face, ends up tsking her. "I look at _all_ the ladies, Ace – you included."

She moves her hands up, tightens her grip on his shoulder, and brushes her fingers against his collarbone. He doesn't seem to notice, but she sure as hell does, enjoys the contact her fingers make with his skin.

"Yeah, I've noticed," she childishly growls, and scoots her ass back on his thighs, breaking contact for just a moment. Butch's hand fly to her hips, keeps her on top of him, and grunts while he sits up. Ace keeps her palms on his shoulders, taking advantage of the situation to run her hands up the sleeves of his jacket, and onto his shoulders while he situates himself.

"You're jealous, nosebleed," he decides, and slips his hands up her ribs, counting them one at a time, mouthing each number against the shell of her ear. Ace shudders involuntarily.

"You're really, _really,_ jealous."

She squeals, a half-hearted attempt to fight his lips off as he grabs the back of her neck, slams his lips against hers. Eventually his fingers ghost up her spine, slip up her neck and against her head. Suddenly, they dig into her hair, grabbing onto the medium-length strands and tugging her lips closer.

The tight grip of his fist is _almost_ painful, _almost_, but any objections she has with the rough treatment are lost as he coaxes her lips apart. There's something amazingly _hot_ about the messy, open-mouthed kiss and she whines when he pulls away.

When Butch suddenly throws her off his lap, she flops onto the dusty ground ungracefully, cursing him as she goes. When Ace finally rights herself and pulls herself off of her ass, Butch is marching up to the loft, eyeing the old mattress she's been using as a bed.

She follows him to the bottom of the steps, watches him shuck off his heavy boots. Pulled by a trance-like need to touch him, she slowly climbs the rickety structure. He grins when he sees her coming, then turns around and pulls off his black jacket, revealing a dirty, off-white t-shirt that fits tautly across his shoulder blades and torso.

Ace springs up the stairs a little faster.

"I know I am one _fine_ piece of ass, Ace, but don't objectify me," he whines, teasing her with a quirk of his lips and a beckoning (if not vulgar) gesture. She rolls her eyes, but joins him, sitting on the edge of the mattress awkwardly.

She feels much less _sure_ of herself now that…now that it actually seems like they're going to do this. Sure, she's wanted it for a _goddamn_ long time, and she's not lacking in the self-esteem department, but she has to wonder…

Butch snakes one palm across her lower back, flicking his fingers lightly at the hem of her shirt. Ace shifts closer so he can reach her better, and then kicks off her own boots, followed by the goggles hanging around her neck.

"You're not just doing this to…y'know, do it, right?" she asks, embarrassed and angry that her voice comes out so desperate, so needy.

Butch chuckles, turns his head towards her neck and begins lavishing kisses across her skin. Ace drops her head back to give him access, and stifles a whimper.

"You trying to ask if I _like_ you?" he wonders breathlessly, lifting his lips and giving her a break for _just _ a moment. Ace feels ridiculous. "God, you sound like a fuckin' _girl_,"

"Shut the fuck up," she snaps, and then swings her arms around his shoulders. She leans back on the mattress, watching his eyes carefully. Butch happily swings a leg over her thigh, caging her in with his hands and knees. They start kissing again, and it's only a matter of time before she an feel his hand snaking up her shirt.


	3. Chapter 3

_a/n: Annnnd there's the M rating. Now it's done. Hope you enjoyed it. (;_

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"You don't waste time, do you?" Ace asks, breathless and all _sorts_ of hot under the collar. Her unspoken plan to seduce him has already turned around to bite her in the ass. Butch chuckles and drops his mouth to her neck, nipping at the skin and then brushing his tongue over the red welts his teeth leave.

She _more_ than shudders this time, kicks her legs up around his back, clinging onto him for dear life as he continues attacking her neck. She twists her head to tell him to slow down, tell him to wait for her to come back down to earth, but their eyes meet, and it's all over.

Butch pulls back with a drawn-out growing, bringing her into his lap. Ace grins at him from her slightly taller vantage point, dips her head to whisper certain things in his head. Her hands glide up his bare wrists, past his elbows, and she runs her fingers under the hem of his sleeves absentmindedly.

Butch groans; it's a drawn out, animalistic noise in the back of his throat that sets her veins on fire, and she pulls him into a messy kiss before giving an experimental roll of her hips. He jerks underneath her, sending her up, then gripping her ass to bring her back down.

Ace zeroes in on his jeans, dropping her fingers from his strong, sinewy shoulders to the zipper, panting and rubbing her hips against his all the while. She feels like a teenager again, remembers grinding on him during their graduating class's "farewell" dance.

She groans at the memory, giving up on the zipper to raise a palm to his face. Butch stares at her for a moment, open-mouthed and lustful, watching as she gets herself off simply by rubbing up against him. For show, Ace lifts her other hand to her breast, keening and staring into his bright blue eyes as she rocks against him.

Suddenly his hands fly to her hips, his heels dig into her skin, and she's flung backwards against the mattress. Squirming with excitement, she watches with a gleeful, cheeky grin as he crawls up her body. This time, his hands don't stop at the skin of her hips, and he tears the thin shirt from her, directing her to lift her arms so she can slip out of the sleeves.

As she does so, Butch catches her wrists with one hand, holds them above her head. He smirks at her, makes her skin crawl with want as he lowers his mouth to her collarbone. Her hands are tangled in her shirt still, so she instead lifts her hips and continues grinding – that is, until his other hand comes down to hold them down.

"Goddamn it, Butch."

He just grins again. "Anyone ever tell you your tits are fuckin' awesome?"

Ace is caught off guard as his mouth attaches itself to her breast, tongue swirling.

"W-when, nhh, when did you get so damn good?"

He doesn't answer, just lets her hands and hips go, sits up and stares down at her for a minute. Feeling bold, Ace shimmies out of her pants, then underwear, and lies there until he's satisfied. Then, she props herself up and helps him out of his shirt, holding her breath in pure excitement as his defined muscles make their appearance.

She's suddenly _extremely_ glad she pushes her companions to keep their health up and stay physically fit.

Ace runs her fingers up the dents in his abdomen, traces the sexy v-muscles down to the waistband of his boxers, giving them a tug. It takes a moment, but Butch finally frees himself of his pants, and the Lone Wanderer immediately grabs hold of him.

"_Fuck shit…god_damn," he keens, and Ace can't help but laugh at the ridiculous string of curses. In response, she pumps him a few times, places a hand on his chest, and then arranges herself so he can lay back on the mattress comfortably.

"You just gon'…go to work then?" he asks, and she rolls her eyes.

"Way to kill the mood, Butch," she teases, but he shakes his head. "No, I mean…"

"Are you blushing? Oh my _God_ you're blushing," she cackles. He stops her by lifting his knee, which she had been resting her ass on, and rubbing it against her teasingly. In response, she gives him a careful squeeze, and groans.

Once Butch regains his breath, and Ace can focus on his words instead of his delicious, mussed hair, or the set of hickeys on his neck, he directs his attention to her again.

"Don't you wanna…you know, get off?"

Ace laughs, although the simple image of Butch between her legs is incredibly tempting, pumps him once or twice again and smirks. "Nah, doing this to stop Clover from stealin' what's _mine_," she growls, and starts to lean forward to kiss him again. Butch leans back, skeptically looking her over.

"Never would've left y'for her, y'know," he says, and strokes a strand of hair from her face with a suddenly soft, indescribable emotion she can't pinpoint – or doesn't want to. Because she thinks it's the most emotional thing she's going to get out of Butch tonight, because she thinks it's a bluff, Ace gives him a warm smile before shimmying down his torso and closing that smile around his "Tunnel Snake."

It doesn't last long, mainly because she prides herself in both intellectual uses of her tongue and other, more practical functions for it.

A few shallow thrusts against her lips, and soon there's that familiar, bitter taste. Butch's fingers drop out of her hair, untangling themselves as they go. He stares at her through heavy-lidded, darkened eyes, and she marvels at his shallow, panting breaths for awhile before climbing upwards to lay down next to him.

"You didn't-"

Ace pats his chest, curls her long fingers around his shoulder, and gives him a kiss on the cheek.

"There's always tomorrow."

When he finally catches his breath, comes down from that lovely high, Butch drags her tightly against his sweaty chest, kisses her on the forehead, and wraps his arms so protectively around her she thinks she's going to explode from the sheer _happiness_ that wells up in her chest.

Hours later, when they're both crashed out on the mattress under a thin blanket, when they're both about to slip into an exhausted, deep sleep, Ace hears him breathe, "All yours, babydoll," into her ear.

She smiles triumphantly.


End file.
